Page:The complete poems of Emily Dickinson, (IA completepoemsofe00dick 1).pdf/350

We should not mind so small a flower,

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We spy the Forests and the Hills,

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We thirst at first, — ’t is Nature’s act;

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What if I say I shall not wait?

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What inn is this

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What mystery pervades a well!

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What soft, cherubic creatures

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When Etna basks and purrs,

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When I hoped I feared,

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When I was small, a woman died

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When night is almost done,

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When roses cease to bloom, dear,

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Where every bird is bold to go,

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Where ships of purple gently toss

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Whether my bark went down to sea,

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While I was fearing it, it came,

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Who has not found the heaven below

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Who is it seeks my pillow nights?

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Who never lost, are unprepared

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Who never wanted, — maddest joy

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Who robbed the woods,

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“ Whose are the little beds,” I asked,

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Who were “ the Father and the Son ” —

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Wild nights!

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Wild nights!

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Will there really be a morning?

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Witchcraft has not a pedigree,

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Within my reach!

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You cannot put a fire out;

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You left me, sweet, two legacies, —

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Your riches taught me poverty

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You’ve seen balloons set, haven’t you?

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